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by thatgirlwhodraws



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Feelings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwhodraws/pseuds/thatgirlwhodraws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith is successful.  Dean Smith has a fantastic condo filled with expensive furniture.  Dean Smith has a steady job.  In five years, Dean might get a promotion.  If he works hard, he might get it sooner.  He’s setting himself up to work at the same company, making the same amount of money, for a long while.  With the economy as bad as it is, Dean Smith should be happy about the fact that he makes as much as he does, has as many opportunities as he does. </p><p>And then there’s Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





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Dean Smith is successful.  Dean Smith has a fantastic condo filled with expensive furniture.  Dean Smith has a steady job.  In five years, Dean might get a promotion.  If he works hard, he might get it sooner.  He’s setting himself up to work at the same company, making the same amount of money, for a long while.  With the economy as bad as it is, Dean Smith should be happy about the fact that he makes as much as he does, has as many opportunities as he does. 

And then there’s Castiel.

Castiel works as an office grunt.  He makes copies of paperwork for everyone in the office.  He brings Dean his coffee every morning.  He doesn’t have a house, a condo, or even an apartment.  Castiel lives in a beat-up old car that carries just enough for him to get by.  Once or twice a year, Castiel gets a job so that he has enough money to buy food, wash his clothes, take a shower in a cheap motel when he needs it.  Half the time, he sleeps in his car outside of the office he works in.

Because Castiel is easily replaceable, no one cares that he’s high most of the time when he comes into work.  No one cares that his hair looks unbrushed, shirt untucked from his pants, rumpled from sleep. No one cares that he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week or two.  And despite his haggard, bed-rumpled look, anyone in the office will freely admit that Castiel is sex-on-legs.  He’s seduced at least three people in the company already, no-strings-attached.  He’s openly flirted with stiff, straight coworkers just to laugh openly and see them squirm.

Despite the fact that Dean has always considered himself _painfully_  straight, he wants Castiel.  He wanted him since the first time he’d seen him. Just seeing him walk in, all ruffled and unshaven, grinning at him like he  _knew_  he was hot as fuck (which he probably did), had made Dean’s pulse throb in his temples.  

When he first found out that Castiel didn’t have a home, he frowned, staring at him incredulously as he took a sip from his coffee, brows knitting slightly. “You what? You live in your _car_?” 

Castiel just laughed, gums showing as he shook his head a bit.  An unlit cigarette hung from between his lips as he looked at Dean, tipping his head to the side. Pushing himself in between Dean and his desk, he sat in front of him, on top of the papers Dean had been working on. He pressed a boot between Dean’s legs, resting on the seat.

“You know what your problem is, Dean?” Castiel asked, pulling out his lighter and flicking it a few times before taking a drag of his cigarette. Breathing in deeply, he turned his head, blowing smoke away from Dean.  Ignoring the trapped expression on Dean’s face, he continued.

“You live in a huge condo, all by yourself, surrounded by expensive crap you don’t need. You fill the space around you with things that you hope will fill that empty place inside.  Not to mention you’re so far in the closet I think you’ve blended in with the walls….” He paused, chuckling, taking another drag.

“But your condo isn’t a home.  You sleep there, you live there, but it’ll never be a home, Dean.  And at the rate you’re going, you’re going to spend the rest of your life filling your space with stuff, looking for a way to fill that empty hole inside.” He leaned in then, his breath smelling of tobacco, stubbled jaw scraping Dean’s cheek as he whispered in his ear. “You could loosen up a little, Dean…give me a chance, and I’ll teach you how to live.” He murmured, pressing the burning tip of his cigarette against the buckle of Dean’s belt, making him jump slightly and shiver.

Castiel left, leaving Dean in a stunned stupor.  Going home that night, his condo felt cold, and empty, and suffocating. 

Moving down into the garage, he flicked on the light.  Covered in tarp was an old car — a classic, belonging to his late father, John.  Tugging the tarp off, he ran his fingers fondly over the well-shined hood of the Impala, swallowing thickly and opening up the door.  Slipping into the driver’s seat, he shut the door behind him and pushed an old cassette tape into the radio, leaving the volume on low.

He wasn’t sure what Castiel had done to him, but he couldn’t sleep in his condo anymore.  The only time he seemed to get any form of rest was in that car, music playing quietly, a feeling of nostalgia washing over him as he remembered the times he’d dozed off while his father drove. 


End file.
